T'was the UNCLE Round Robin
by MLaw
Summary: A rousing and dangerous adventure that takes place in Scotland, just before the Christmas holiday. Written as part of a Round Robin Christmas Challenge in section7mfu on Live Journal, by 11 writers. Their names are listed in each chapter heading as the writer responsible for that chapter.
1. ssclassof56

**The prompt by girl in the glen:**

 **T'was the night before Christmas**  
 **And all through the halls,**  
 **(Those gunmetal chrome ones**  
 **From whence Justice calls.**

 **It should have been quiet**  
 **As Christmases past**  
 **Had yielded a truce**  
 **Among enemies fast**

 **Not so tonight**  
 **For the call came in,**  
 **'There's trouble in Scotland'**  
 **Seems THRUSH sees a win**

 **Now Solo and Illya**  
 **Are heading that way**  
 **Who else might be with them**  
 **We'll see day by day**

 **The weather is frightful**  
 **On Loch Awe's bleak shore**  
 **And Castle Kilchurn stands**  
 **Ravaged and poor**

 **No longer with Campbells**  
 **To travel its girth**  
 **The halls here are empty**  
 **Save the chirping of Birds**

 **The wintry scene**  
 **It cries out for reprieve**  
 **From the evil within it**  
 **From gluttons and thieves**

 **THRUSH must be thwarted**  
 **Their plans brought to nought**  
 **With UNCLE's best agents**  
 **The victory's bought**

 **So let us continue**  
 **The story's untold**  
 **It's all up to you now**  
 **To make it unfold**

(Castle Kilchurn was built in the mid-15th century by Sir Colin Campbell. The four-story tower, located on a rocky peninsula at the northeastern end of Loch Awe, in Argyll and Bute, Scotland, remained the Clan Campbell's base for 150 years until it was abandoned in the 1700s)

 **The story begins:**

Illya lowered the binoculars, his expression sour, as a cloud of smoke obscured his view. "Must you do that here?"

Napoleon looked from his partner to the cigar in his hand. "I'm enjoying the fresh air."

"It was fresher before you arrived."

Inured to such responses, Napoleon took another satisfying drag on his Churchill. "You should try one. A civilized end to a magnificent dinner." He raised a black brogue up to the balustrade, then, remembering his kilt, returned his foot to the terrace floor.

"Thank you for that, at least," Illya said and resumed his reconnaissance.

Napoleon perched on the edge of the stone railing and followed Illya's gaze across Loch Awe. "What dost thou see at yonder castle?"

"Just the 'infernal light show' Sir Thomas railed against." The ruined fortress glowed like a foundry, the surrounding loch like a pool of molten metal. "There appears to be some new construction in the center of the courtyard, but what is left of the original castle is untouched."

"So much for the rumors that the new owner plans to restore it. The old boy certainly had a lot to say about that."

"Two courses worth." Illya looked down at his highland evening wear. "Does he really eat this way every night? It seems an unnecessary extravagance."

"I wouldn't mentioned that to Mr. Waverly, if I were you. After all, Sir Thomas and he are old school chums." The sweep of his arm indicated the Edwardian architecture and the well-appointed drawing room beyond. "Aye, laddie, we've had worse accommodations."

Illya waved off another cloud of cigar smoke. "If Thrush has indeed purchased Kilchurn, I do not see how a ruined castle furthers their plans for world domination. The location has no strategic value."

Napoleon, cigar between his lips, held up his hands to frame the castle. "Very picturesque," he said from the corner of his mouth. "But that's hardly been of value to Thrush in the past."

"Watch your ash," Illya advised.

"Why, is it showing?" Napoleon checked his kilt.

"Your ash, you blockhead. It is about to fall into your lap."

Napoleon gently rolled the cigar along the outside edge of the balustrade. "Suggestions?"

"Sir Thomas said the lights usually die down about midnight. We should be there when they do."

"Very good. Plenty of time to finish my cigar." Napoleon shivered. "Though I think I'll do it inside. It's getting chilly."

"I hadn't noticed," Illya said smugly.

Napoleon looked from his kilt to the Russian's tartan trews. "Knock-kneed?" he asked in mock sympathy.

"No, just practical." Illya surveyed the sky. "It will snow tonight. I hope you brought something more sensible to wear."

"Are you kidding? The kilt is an all-purpose garment. If a Scot can go to war in one, certainly I could do a little bird hunting."

"You wouldn't dare," Illya said. Napoleon only blew a cloud of smoke and smiled innocently.

Illya rolled his eyes and turned toward the drawing room. "I'm going up to make preparations," he called over his shoulder.

Napoleon strolled behind him, singing quietly, "O ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye."


	2. alynwa

The two men began to change into black slacks, turtlenecks, socks and shoes and then spread black grease paint on their faces. They each put black gunny sacks on the their beds and began packing them with extra ammo clips, plastic explosives, blasting caps, detonating wire, a camera, gloves and various other sundry items that might come in handy during a reconnaissance mission.

"Do you think Sir Thomas thought it odd when we requested sharing the same room?" Napoleon asked. "There's got to be at least thirty bedrooms in this place."

"I do not know and I do not care: We know THRUSH is definitely in the area so I much prefer we stay in close proximity." He looked around the room which was easily thirty feet by forty feet. "It is not like we are tripping over each other. And besides, there is… _interesting_ history and legend swirling around this area and our host."

Napoleon lifted his sack to check its heft. Looking at his watch he said, "We should leave here as soon as the lights go out at Kilchurn, so we have about an hour." Now that the strategist in him had a plan, he focused on the last thing his partner said. "What history and what legend?"

The Russian sat and began disassembling and cleaning his gun, a routine he did so often that his hands moved by rote. "Regarding Loch Awe, supposedly there are creatures called 'kelpies' that inhabit it."

"And what, pray tell, are kelpies?"

"A kelpie is a supernatural water horse. It appears as a gray or white pony or smallish horse that is friendly and appears lost. One can tell it is a kelpie because its mane constantly drips water. If a person is foolish enough to climb on its back to ride it, the kelpie will take him to a watery grave as it is impossible to dismount."

Napoleon glanced out at the loch and shivered. "That's a pleasant thought. What's the story about our host?"

"Sir Thomas Bean may or may not have an ancestor named Alexander Bean. No one knows for sure if he ever existed, but according to Scottish lore, Alexander Bean, or Sawney Bean as he was known, lived in the mid – 15th century, just at the time Castle Kilchurn was built. According to legend, he, his wife, their fifteen children and thirty – one grandchildren were criminals and cannibals. He and his family allegedly robbed, murdered and ate more than one thousand people during the reign of King James I before they were caught and all executed."

"Fantastic. And how long have the Beans lived in _this_ castle?"

"Since the 14th century, so if Sawney Bean did exist, he lived here."

"Terrific. Killer horses in the water and possibly, cannibalistic ghosts wandering the halls of the place I'm sleeping at night. Does Mr. Waverly know _any_ normal people besides Mrs. Waverly?"

"I suggest you ask him when we return."

"Very funny. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that whatever is going on across the loch is something we can resolve reasonably fast. I have every intention of carving Aunt Amy's turkey Christmas Day and availing myself of her delicious meal and hospitality. And of course, she is expecting you, too." He checked his watch. "It's time. Let's go."

Illya picked his sack and followed Napoleon. _I am hoping you have not jinxed us,_ he thought.


	3. Avirra

As a rule, Napoleon wouldn't describe himself as a superstitious man, but the darkness of a Scottish Highlands night reminded him more of the dark of a cavern rather than the normal night time dark he was accustomed to. It was the sort of dark that seemed to swallow light rather than welcome it. If that weren't eerie enough, the occasional flash of an animal's eyes and the faint nickering sounds of a horse added to the creepiness factor when Illya's mention of the kelpie came back to mind.

All in all, with his surroundings, Napoleon found it very easy to see how many of the lurid tales of the area came to be. With little around to allay the darkness, the mind tended to go a bit overboard with imagining what the noises around them might be from.

Their movements had to be slow and steady. With no other artificial lights around, they would draw attention to themselves if they made use of flashlights. Illya was leading the way and was lucky enough to find a path that the local wildlife seemed to make frequent use of. It made their footing far less treacherous although it would have been difficult to say whether it was the red deer or Napoleon who was the most startled when he turned to look behind him and found himself nearly nose to nose with the young stag before it bounded off; Illya was hard pressed to keep a start face while Napoleon tried to get his breathing back under control.

It seemed far longer, but according to Napoleon's watch, it had taken them just under an hour to reach the edges of the Kilchurn ruins and, as if the area had in mind to set the scene for a horror tale, a thick fog was creeping from the dark waters of the loch and beginning to surround the castle. As prearranged, Napoleon reached forward and gave a light tug on Illya's gunnysack to let him know to stop. Once they were close enough to speak in whispers, Napoleon gestured toward the incoming fogbank. The old term about fog being as thick as pea soup came to mind.

"Think the weather is going to be a problem?"

Illya studied the fog for a moment, then shrugged.

"We will need to be cautious not to lose one another, but it should work to our advantage in avoiding being seen by whomever is inside Kilchurn. Unless, of course, they are using something to detect thermal changes."

"Leave it to you to think of that cheerful option."

"Better to be prepared for the worst, my friend."

Both men froze then ducked off of the trail and into the surrounding bushes at a nearby sound. Horses, but not the supernatural kind. These were fully saddled with riders, the foremost rider leading the way cautiously down the trail that the two agents had vacated just in time. The following rider was complaining bitterly, his Brooklyn accent making it obvious that he was not a local.

"Out in the middle of nowhere and likely to break our necks in this fog."

The tone of the man on the lead horse indicated that this was far from the first time he'd heard the complaints.

"By all mean, Mathews, feel free to register your disapproval with Lady Olivia when she returns from her meeting with Central. I can set you up with an appointment."

The retraction was a speedy one.

"No, no - no need to bother Her Ladyship. I was just blowing off some steam."

A chuckle from the lead horse was the only response as they continued past. Napoleon and Illya remained in place and silent until they could no longer hear the horses, Returning to the trail, Napoleon brushed off a few leaves.

"I think that confirms the presence of a bird's nest ahead. Lady Olivia sounds formidable."

"Many of the female THRUSHes we have met have been."

"True enough, chum. I wonder how old Her Ladyship is?"

That got a scowl from Illya.

"Mind on the job, Napoleon."

Napoleon simply gave his partner a wink.

"Always. But there's more than one way to do reconnaissance.

To his credit, Illya managed not to roll his eyes as he started down the trail again.


	4. Katb357

The castle loomed ominously before them out of the darkness. The swirling fog played eerily amongst the many openings in the broken walls, and throughout the battlements atop some of the ruins. The sheer size of the castle up close was enough to give them pause for a few moments.

The brilliant brassy light that they had witnessed from Sir Thomas Bean's estate was currently nowhere to be seen. Everything was bathed in what little moonlight could penetrate the fog, which seemed to have a living, breathing aura about it, surrounding the two agents, chilling them with its very presence.

The grass underfoot was long and wet, and clung to their legs, reminding Napoleon uncomfortably of thin strands of seaweed. Unwelcome images of kelpies flitted through his mind.

Illya found one of the openings that were at ground level. "Napoleon," he whispered, "There is a clear entrance into the main courtyard. I believe we will find the construction inside this area."

An inkling of danger prickled Illya's senses, just as Napoleon turned towards him, from his own exploration of the wall. A sudden pounding of hooves thundered out of the darkness, yet neither man could see anything.

Though he tried to draw his Special, Napoleon found himself swept up into the air by a man on horseback. He fought briefly, until he was clouted painfully on the back of the head. He saw a bright flash of white, and then everything was black again.

In the meantime, Illya had managed to evade his captor. When the man reached for him, the agile Russian twisted around, and managed to jerk the man's leg and get one foot into the stirrup and mount the man's horse. Unfortunately, it was the wrong stirrup for Illya to mount facing forward, so he simply mounted in front of the man, and a (literally) running battle ensued.

Illya was in the process of turning the THRUSHie into mincemeat when suddenly a shot was fired in the air. The horse, well-trained, simply stopped. From a dead gallop. Both men were thrown to the ground.

As Illya desperately tried to quickly sort himself out, he started to stand, only to find himself face to face with the barrel of a THRUSH rifle—being held by the most breathtaking—and most deadly woman he had ever seen. Illya sighed.

"Chyort."

He looked around. Napoleon was kneeling in the grass, his hands cuffed behind him. Two THRUSH goons had their rifles trained on his head, their fingers on the triggers. And though there was blood running incongruously down the side of his face, the bastard was wearing his most urbane expression and charming smile. He tipped his head in deference to her exotic beauty. "Lady Olivia, I presume?"


	5. JantoJones

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage," the woman replied, in an exceptionally cut-glass accent. "Who are you, and what are you doing lurking around outside my castle?"

Lady Olivia was a woman who was born into nobility, as could be evidenced by the way she carried herself. She was used to people being in awe of her beauty and wealth, but the dark-haired intruder intrigued her. His expression was that of a man who was confident of seducing any woman with a mere look. She tried not to notice the primal stirring from deep within her.

"Forgive us your ladyship," Napoleon replied, turning up the charm another notch. "We are tourists and we got ourselves lost when night fell. We saw a light coming from this direction and were hoping to find a friendly soul who could set us on the right road."

"I see. Do you always carry weaponry and explosives when touring a country?" asked Lady Olivia almost conversationally, indicating the pile of equipment which had been confiscated from Napoleon. "Shall we see what apparent travel essentials your friend is carrying?"

She indicated for one of the goons to search the blond. As he was divested of his own kit, Illya glanced around the ruined courtyard, searching out possible escape routes should the opportunity arise. He was under no delusion that any escape attempt would be easy, but it helped to know the lay of the land beforehand.

The centre of the courtyard was dominated by huge framework of steel and, judging by its appearance, it was still under construction. The whole thing put the Russian in mind of a drilling rig, although he knew it couldn't possibly be such a thing. The castle was built on stone and there were no known natural resources beneath. Unless, of course, a large, deep hole was needed for a purpose Illya was reluctant to dwell on. As much as he tried not to think them, the words 'missile silo' presented themselves to him. Try as he might, he couldn't think of any strategic value the area might reasonably have. Then again, when it came to THRUSH, reason wasn't often a consideration.

Illya was dragged from his thoughts by the feel of handcuffs being fastened to his wrists. On the instruction of Lady Olivia, he and Napoleon were hauled to their feet. She leaned in close to Solo's face, her green eyes flashing with anger.

"Given how well prepared you both are I suspect you are here to disrupt my little operation, which probably makes you U.N.C.L.E.,' she hissed, as she ran a red-painted fingernail down his cheek. "I shall look forward to extracting your identities and your purpose."

She stepped back and ordered the goons to 'find somewhere to lock them up for now'.

"Make sure they are kept apart from each other," she instructed.

Watching them go, Lady Olivia smiled to herself. Whoever these men turned out to be, she would make sure she had her fun with them; especially the dark one. That would have to wait, however, as there was still work to be done.


	6. pfrye

Napoleon woke with a groan and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position against the stone wall of his cell.

As cells went he'd been in worse, but not many. No cot, no window, just cold damp stones. The only way in or out was a solid oak door with a small barred window that allowed a faint light to illuminate his surroundings. The floor was covered in mouldy straw that had obviously been there for quite some time.

He had no idea how long he'd been here but judging by the way his stomach was growling it was morning. He wondered how Illya was faring. The last he had seen his Russian partner was when Lady Olivia's goons had pulled him struggling to the opposite side of the courtyard.

He hoped Illya had enough sense to not antagonize the large THRUSHs manhandling him, but he doubted it.

Napoleon stood as he heard a key rattling in the door. It swung open and two large guards entered, one blocked the door pointing his rifle at him. The second put a wooden bucket on the floor and pushed it towards Napoleon with his foot.

"Wash," he growled and tossed a grimy rag at him, then he set down a stack of clothing.

"Her Ladyship insists you dress for brunch."

"Of course" Napoleon grinned "I wouldn't want to disappoint my hostess."

His two guards never more than a few feet from him as Napoleon was led through a maze of underground hallways, and up a narrow flight of stairs.

Solo knew he had to put off any escape attempt for the time being. A meal with the mysterious Lady Olivia might give him the information U.N.C.L.E. wanted and help him locate Illya.

A heavy oak door opened and Napoleon was pushed inside what were obviously Lady Olivia's living quarters.

A crackling fire lent the only warmth to the lushly renovated surroundings. Heavy tapestries hung on the stone walls, antique furniture filled the room.

A door opened and Lady Olivia entered, dressed in a lovely black skirt with a Royal Stewart tartan blazer.

"Mr. Solo, so kind of you to join me."

"How could I refuse," he murmured as he kissed her hand.

"Oh, what a charmer you are...so unlike your disagreeable associate."

"Ah, speaking of my associate...how is he?"

"Alive." Olivia smiled, "Well, at least for now."

Lady Olivia slid her arm into Solo's. "Tell me Mr. Solo, do you love the Holidays?" Not waiting for him to answer she continued "I do, I love receiving presents, If you told me what U.N.C.L.E. knows about my plans I'd be ever so happy….would you like to see my Christmas tree?"

She led Napoleon through an archway into a dining area where a table was set for two. In the corner of the room was a large evergreen bedecked for the season.

Napoleon smiled as he held the chair for Lady Olivia and then sat across from her.

"Lovely tree" he smiled hoping his Solo charm wouldn't let him down. "But not as lovely as the vision sitting across from me!"

Olivia sighed, thinking that it might just be a tad difficult to kill this one.

"When I was a little girl my father would tell us stories about our heritage, that the Stewarts were the rightful heirs to the British throne. I knew that one day I'd be able to right that wrong. With THRUSH's help, and my plan, I will do so and I will be the Queen. I was born to be Queen!"

Napoleon shook his head. It was obvious that not only was Lady Olivia dangerous and no doubt beautiful, but like so many other THRUSH she was also somewhat insane. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

Lady Olivia saw the look of pity on Solo's face and a cold fury took her.

"Look up Mr. Solo...look up at my Christmas angel."

Solo looked up.

Illya, bloody and unconscious hung by his manacled wrists from a short chain threaded through an iron ring embedded in the ceiling. Dangling, his bare feet were only a few inches above the top of the gaily decorated Christmas tree.

At Napoleon's stricken expression; Lady Olivia began to laugh.


	7. sidheuaine42

Illya was extremely pale, his head crowned with a horrific replica of a halo and streaks of blood slowly caressing his face. Sweat and blood dripped along his arms and his back, mingling until they merged with the waistband of his plaid trousers. Napoleon could see that both of his friend's shoulders were dislocated.

* _Tovarisch, what did they do to you? Can you forgive me for placing you in such demented hands?_ *

"What's wrong? Don't you like my tree?

"Oh dear, I'm going to have to punish the angel a bit more for desecrating my beautiful tree. He's _such_ a naughty boy..." Napoleon's hostess remarked.

The American bit back his urge to return each and every wound on his partner's body upon the woman beside him, fighting to keep somewhat stoic and the contents of his stomach down.

* _I swear upon my ancestors' graves that I'll make it all up to you, drug._ *

A young man wrapped in a féileadh-mór draped the cloak-end over his tawny hair, hiding as much as he could of his identity and keeping himself just as warm. He followed a set of tracks, definitely feline, yet he didn't know of any feral colonies in the location.

He walked slowly along the perimeter of the castle, avoiding any notice by the resident lady of the manor or any of her servants. He caught a flicker of grey out of the corner of his eye, then realized that it was one of the very elusive Highland tigers and not a feral cat.

"Hello, little one. I won't hurt you or yours. Is your lair far from here?"

A grey ear swiveled, catching the quiet inflections from the man, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

"Have you eaten yet today? I have some freshly caught hare if you'd want." He drew a package from his tartan, then a skinned hare from the package before presenting it to the feline. He then took several steps back, his ghillies leaving a peculiar path since he refused to take his hazel eyes off of the cat.

* _Oh, there's an unusual amount of activity around here. I wonder what's going on. Could it have something to do with the signs of a struggle a ways back?_ *

He shrugged his shoulders before focusing on the wildcat in front of him.


	8. lindafishes8

It was Scottish lore, he remembered. Highland Tigers have the power to bless or to curse. When one came upon such a cat, food must be offered. If the cat believed you were deserving of its favors, the food was accepted and a blessing was given. The green-eyed young man was pleased as he watched the animal carry the hare off into the brush.

It was at that moment he decided to confront his mother. She had given him strict instructions to stay away from this part of the castle; it was too dangerous for a child, she had told him. But he wasn't a child; he was going on sixteen. It was time he stepped up and showed what he was made of. Robbie Stewart turned and began the trek to the center of operations at Kilchurn Castle.

There was a knock at the door, and Lady Olivia was momentarily distracted from admiring her Christmas tree angel.

Kuryakin began to stir and a moan escaped his lips. Solo cringed, knowing how badly the Russian must be suffering. He needed to get him out of here at the first possible chance.

"How dare you interrupt me in my private quarters," the dark-haired Lady bellowed. For a self-proclaimed royal, she had quite the set of lungs.

"Pardon me, Your Majesty, but your son wishes to have a word and the 'package' has arrived."

It was one of the THRUSH guards who had roused Napoleon from his cell earlier.

Calling Lady Olivia _Your Majesty_ was an improper use of the title. Solo supposed she had ordered all of her personnel to address her in such a manner. _Delusional as well as demented_ , Napoleon realized.

"You will excuse me for a moment, Mr. Solo? I have some pressing business to attend to. Please enjoy your brunch and when I return, we will have the whole afternoon to enjoy ourselves."

"But of course, Your Majesty. It all looks so delicious. I shall count the minutes," he answered cordially but in truth, eating was the last thing on his mind and the very thought of enjoying her company made his skin crawl.

As soon as Lady Olivia left he listened at the door and heard her instruct the guard to not let her guests out of the suite. Napoleon raced over to his partner, grabbing a chair along the way.

"I'm coming, _tovarisch_!"

The Christmas tree was shoved out of the way and Napoleon managed to maneuver his partner's manacled wrists off the ceiling hook. Illya sobbed as he was gingerly laid out on the plush carpet. His arms and shoulders burned as if they were on fire and his back had been sliced to ribbons by an overeager THRUSH thug wielding a cat-o-nine tails. It didn't help that his body was trembling, a reaction to the pain and abuse he'd endured at the command of that madwoman.

"Listen," Illya gasped, concentrating on the invaluable information he'd heard as his torturers boasted and bragged about their latest nefarious plans. Remember that construction? They've built a short-range missile silo in the center of the courtyard."

"A silo? What's the target?" Solo asked as he carefully removed the faux halo from the blond's head and tossed it aside. Wired together, it was sharp, and had pierced his scalp in many places.

His hands shook as he grabbed a couple of white linen napkins from the dining table to stop the bleeding.

"Sandringham House. It's Queen Elizabeth's family estate near Norfolk." Tears rolled down Illya's cheeks as he spoke and Napoleon wiped them away along with the blood and sweat.

"Most of the royal family has gathered there for the holidays," Illya continued. "The missile is due to be delivered soon. Napoleon, you don't have time… " He winced, trying hard not to moan out loud.

"We have time for this," the CEO countered.

"You have to get out of here and stop them. Leave me." He gasped as another wave of pain washed over him. Bile rose in his throat and he began to vomit. Solo rolled him onto his side and the movement forced him to cry out. Either the guard hadn't heard or didn't care; the door remained closed.

Finally, the nausea abated and Kuryakin caught his breath.

"I'm useless, Napoleon, and you know it. The mission comes first," he whispered and then passed out.


	9. insaneladybug

Part of Napoleon was relieved when Illya finally passed out. He was free of the pain for now, and that was good, especially considering what Napoleon had to do next. It was true that he needed to hurry and dismantle THRUSH's plans, but he didn't want to leave without first putting Illya's shoulders back into place. The longer they were dislocated, the worse it would be for him later.

Illya flinched when Napoleon pushed the first arm back into its socket, but he didn't regain consciousness. When Napoleon did the same to the other arm, there was no movement. Illya had sunk deeper into oblivion.

Napoleon sighed and leaned back, surveying his wounded partner. This never got easier. If anything, each time it happened was more agonizing than the prior times. As an agent faced with death every day, Napoleon couldn't help wondering which time would be the last. Of course, being Napoleon, he didn't tend to dwell on that discouraging thought for very long.

When the door opened and admitted a THRUSH guard bearing a rifle, he tensed. What now?

The door shut behind the guard and he came closer. His beret was pulled forward, shading his eyes. "Well, what have we here?" He kept the rifle pointed at Napoleon as he advanced.

Napoleon held his ground. "What are you planning to do with us?" His eyes narrowed as he added darkly, "You've already done enough to him."

" _I_ didn't do that." The guard lowered the rifle when he drew closer.

Napoleon gave a slight nod, his only real indication of surprise that he recognized the guard from past encounters. "Mr. Ecks.* Your new job is treating you well, I trust?"

Ecks smirked at him. "I don't work for THRUSH. It's an undercover assignment. We were paid to find out what THRUSH is up to this time around and stop it. Wye's around as well, but not as a guard. He didn't think he would be believable as one." He set the butt of the rifle on the floor and held onto the barrel. "Trust U.N.C.L.E. to walk into this case and get pounded for their efforts."

"Illya has been badly hurt by these bloodthirsty madmen. I don't intend to let them get away with it." Napoleon got to his feet. "The best way to get back at them would be to stop their insidious missile."

"Which of course you'd be doing anyway," Ecks said. "I'm supposed to stay here and guard the door, but with THRUSH's plan almost ready to go into action, I'd say it's time for a break. Wouldn't you?" He went on without really expecting on an answer to that rhetorical question. "There's a secret passage in this room; you would do well to take it."

"And where is this secret passage?" Napoleon asked warily.

"Over by that wall. You press on the loose stone right there and a panel swings open."

Napoleon went over and examined the space. But instead of opening it, he asked, "How do I know that this isn't some kind of a trick courtesy of THRUSH?"

"I guess you'll just have to trust me," Ecks smirked. "And you should also be aware that this castle is supposedly haunted."

"Lovely." Napoleon finally took a chance and pressed on the loose stone. The panel creaked open. Napoleon stood and looked at it, but didn't move to go inside. "Does THRUSH know about this?"

"I found it first and I didn't tell them," Ecks said. "If they know, it isn't because of me. It leads to the center courtyard where the missile silo has been built. We tried to find out how and when the missile is being brought, but we were unable to. It's unlikely we can intercept it before they get it to the silo."

"So all I have to do is to damage the silo," Napoleon intoned. "And then damage the missile when it arrives, just in case they try to fire it even with the silo damaged."

"Something like that," Ecks agreed.

"And in the meantime, you'll be doing what?" Napoleon asked.

"Trying to knock off the guards in the courtyard before they can knock you off," Ecks replied with a cheeky smirk.

"Ah. Yes." Napoleon frowned, looking back to Illya. "I can't leave Illya in the middle of the floor. If Lady Olivia comes back and finds him, she'll have him tortured again."

"Then bring him and keep him in the passage while we do what we must outside," Ecks said.

Napoleon didn't really like that idea either. But it was either that or leave him here, and he definitely didn't want to do that. So he went back into the room and carefully lifted the limp and torn body into his arms.

Ecks waited for him at the entrance to the passageway. Rather than taking dark amusement in his once-attacker's misery, his eyes flickered with something unreadable. When Napoleon stepped inside with Illya, Ecks let the door creak shut behind them and turned on a flashlight.

Illya started to mumble as they traveled through the musty and cold tunnel, prompting Napoleon to look down at him in concern. He did not fully awaken, however, and Napoleon gently set him down and covered him with his jacket when they arrived at the exit that opened onto the courtyard.

"Oh, there's one little thing that would be helpful," Napoleon said as he straightened. "Illya and I were relieved of all our weapons. If you happen to have an extra . . ."

Ecks reached and took a handgun out of a holster around his waist. "You'll have to figure out on your own how to damage the silo," he said.

"I'm sure I can make do," said Napoleon.

Ecks pushed the panel open enough to study what was going on. Then he slipped out, going in one direction to silently sneak up on and subdue the guards.

Napoleon gripped the gun tightly. _Stay safe, Illya,_ he said silently before going outside as well and taking the opposite direction. The silo loomed before him in all its menacing tyranny.

 **.**

*Ecks and Wye are from "The Odd Man Affair."


	10. mlaw

Napoleon made his way along the secret tunnel, but his instincts told him something was off. Ecks was being too helpful. If he was supposedly here to dismantle THRUSH's plans...who the heck was he working for?

Solo just wasn't comfortable not knowing who paid them to do this. They were guns for hire and he wondered if offered the right price, would they switch sides, as was often the case with mercenary types.

There was no real intelligence on an organization for which he and Wye could be working. In the past Waverly had referred to them as merely 'far-righters'...but Napoleon just had a bad feeling when it came to Ecks and his buddy Wye."

It was then Solo noticed the tunnel was lit by old fashioned torches. Why would they be here if it had been an impromptu rescue by Ecks, and no one else knew of the tunnel but him? Did he really believe the two of them would eliminate the guards while he took care of the missile?

"No," Solo whispered."This reeked of being a setup, but the questions that begged answering...why? And why not just leave he and Illya in the hands of that mad woman Lady Olivia? They couldn't really want his help. This just felt wrong.

He heard light footsteps and silently cursed to himself as he raised his handgun, though first he checked the magazine. It had only one bullet in it, with nothing in the chamber. For a split second the seed that Ecks had planted about their being ghosts flashed through his head, but Napoleon shook his head.

"Oh yeah, setup all right."

A lone figure came into view beneath the light of one of the torches, it was a... boy and he was dressed in a traditional Scottish kilt. This was becoming stranger by the minute. First Ecks, and Wye showing up and now a kid who didn't exactly look like a Thrushie.

"Stop right there," Napoleon's voice was cold and threatening and it forced the lad to freeze in his tracks.

"Och, don't shoot please? I'm here ta help you and your friend. I have nae but a pair o' blankets with me and I'm nae armed." The boy dropped the blankets to the floor, raising his hands.

"And who exactly are you?"

"The name's Robbie...umm, Rob Stewart. Lady Olivia is my mother."

"Oh really? And why would 'her Majesty's' son want to help us? Napoleon's voice was filled with sarcasm.

"She does nae know. I'm doing this because my mother is quite mad you see. Earlier I confronted her about how she still treats me as a child and I asked to be included in whatever it was she was planning. When she told me of you and your friend...where is he by the way? Och, he is nae dead is he?

"No he's alive."

My mother ordered me ta kill the two of you. It was then she would consider me a man and a true Stewart, and worthy ta bear the royal name. She also told me of her plan and method ta kill the royal family and take Elizabeth's place as Queen. Aye, my mother is quite mad as loon...that's when I decided ta help you. I know you were here ta stop her. I want ta help you do it!"

Something in Napoleon's gut said to trust the boy; it was the complete polar opposite of the feeling he had with Ecks.

"Well Robbie...Rob, you see I think we have a problem if you mean what you say. At the exit of this tunnel is most likely waiting your mother's men who are probably planning to kill me. This courtesy of a man named Ecks."

"Oh that wee numpty? I've met him and his friend Wye and would nae trust them as far as I could toss them like a caber."

Solo smiled; he was beginning to like this kid.

"Rob, I'm going to go out on a limb and trust you. Follow me as my friend is farther back in the tunnel...he's not in good shape."

"Aye, I can do that." Robbie picked up the blankets and grabbed one of the torches to help light the way.

They found Illya laying lifeless on the cold flagstone floor, he was still unconscious but his body was shivering.

Robbie stood with his mouth hanging open when he saw what had been done to the Russian's body. He'd never seen such violence in what had been his obviously sheltered life.

Illya's back was covered in wounds from a vicious lashing, his blond hair was plastered down by dried blood, and his shoulders were swollen and bruised.

Napoleon said nothing, and pulled one of the blankets from the boy's hands. He slowly lifted his partner, wrapping him in it. It was apparent now that Illya was in deep shock and that could kill him.

"Rob, let me have the other blanket. Illya needs to be kept warm, he's in shock."

"But the blanket's for you. T'is very cold outside and looks like snow is on the way."

"The hell with me," Napoleon took the second blanket, covering Illya with it as well. "The best thing to do is to go back to where we came from, your mother's quarters."

'T'isn't safe. There's another tunnel. I've been exploring the place for a while and there's lots of them, though a fair few have collapsed. This place was the ancestral home of clan Campbell and the tunnels were important to their safety. The family has ties to the Stewarts as far back to the time of Cailean Mór, who was a famous warrior knighted in 1280 and established the clan here at Loch Awe. T'is probably in a twisted way why my mother chose Kilchurn castle for her evil plans, since we're blood relations to the Campbells."

"Robbie?"

"Sir Duncan Campbell, 1st Lord Campbell and his wife, my descendant, Lady Marjorie Stewart were descendants of both Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland and Robert II Stewart, King of Scotland. Lady Marjorie was the daughter of King Robert II's son, Robert Stewart...my name's sake by the way, who was the 1st Duke of Albany. So all descendants of Sir Duncan Campbell and Lady Marjorie Stewart, are descendants of Robert the Bruce and most of the early Kings of Scotland. I reckon that's why my mother thinks she should be Queen of all…"

"Rob! Though your family history is quite fascinating, now is not the time nor the place."

"Och, sorry. T'is what we Scots do...keep track of family history."

"Well change topic and find us one of those other tunnels to get out of here?"

"Aye."


	11. mlaw-again

Napoleon hefted Illya over his shoulder with a grunt. As light as Kuryakin was, right now he was dead weight.

Rob led the way, carrying his torch and after some twists and turns they exited the tunnel somewhere outside of the castle, not far from Loch Awe.

"Now what?" Rob asked.

"I'm thinking." Napoleon carefully lowered Illya to a bit of grass beside the water's edge.

"Here hae some of this," Rob said. He reached into his sporran, a type of leather pouch as kilts didn't exactly have pockets. He pulled out a small flask, offering it to the American.

Napoleon refrained from commenting about a boy Rob's age carrying such a thing. He took a quick, warming nip of what was possibly the best Scotch he'd ever tasted.

"Whoa, that hit the spot. Thanks. So is this the reason why you Scotsmen were able to go into battle while wearing only kilts."

"Maybe," Rob winked. "Have tae keep the nether regions warm somehow I suppose. I dinna touch it myself except for medicinal purposes when I'm hunting. If my mother ever found out…

"Listen Rob, I have to return to the castle and stop the missile from being launched. I need you to stay here with Illya. If I don't come back, then I want you to hightail it to the other side of the loch to Sir Thomas Bean's estate. Tell him Napoleon Solo sent you and fill him in on what's happened. He'll contact my boss Mr. Waverly and get help."

"You want me to leave Illya?"

"If you have to, yes. He'd understand. Now do you understand me Rob?"

"Aye. Good luck Mr. Solo, and Godspeed."

Napoleon headed back towards the castle, though he didn't have the heart to tell Rob that his mother would most likely be killed. Yet he had a feeling the boy already suspected that.

Solo crept through to the courtyard and there in the tower that had been completed; strangely, the thing almost looked like the Eiffel tower. Attached to it with cables stood the missile, its white metal casing showing brightly in the waning light. Apparently it was the package the guard had said arrived.

He didn't exactly have a solid plan at this point. Not having any explosives, he'd have to improvise. What else was new? Flying by the seat of his pants when it came to strategy was what he did, though not always with a successful result.

Napoleon ducked into the shadows as he heard the sound of footfalls coming towards him. It was a guard and as he came close enough, Solo stepped out of the darkness and karate chopped the man into oblivion.

He stripped him of his uniform and beret, and grabbing the THRUSH rifle, Napoleon sauntered out into the open.

Another guard passed Solo but stopped, turning to look at him.

"Damn, he'd been made already?" Napoleon swore under his breath.

"Hey buddy got a match, I'm going on a smoke break."

Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief. "No sorry. Say I'm new, just came in. Where's the armory? My gun doesn't seem operating properly, it keep jamming up. I need to get another one."

"Oh it's right over there," the guard pointed across to a wooden door on the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks pal," Napoleon gave him a little salute, and turned, heading to where he'd been directed.

Amazingly the door was unlocked, and after finding the light switch, he grinned. His and Illya's packs had been tossed in here, along with their Specials!

He quickly opened their black bags, pulling out the C-4 they'd brought along, as well as the detonators. At this point they were the only things he needed, and he discarded the rest of the contents.

Napoleon molded several blocks of the grey explosive putty together, and attached a detonator so he could just stick it onto the side of the rocket. It would be a huge explosion, to say the least.

Setting the timer to five minutes...it had to be fast. Hopefully he could get out in time.

One device would have to do as he couldn't risk being spotted near the rocket.

After shutting off the light, he walked out with his rifle slung over his shoulder, looking like he was just one of the other guards, though he had his and Illya's Specials tucked inside his blue jumpsuit. The explosive was in his hand, tucked behind his back.

Counting the guards, there looked to be a half dozen of the, with no sight of either Ecks or Wye. That made him more nervous as they could identify him and sound the alarm if they showed up.

Hopefully they were busy searching the castle for him and Illya. If they weren't THRUSH, they might not have said anything as to him and Illya having gone missing.

Step by step he moved closer, until breathing a sigh of relief, he was next to the base of the rocket. In one quick movement he shoved the block of C-4 against the metal, pushing it firmly into place. The timer was now at four minutes and counting down.

Napoleon turned, and walking across the courtyard, he suddenly came face to face with Ecks and Wye.

"Taking a little stroll Solo?" You're a naughty boy and didn't go where you were supposed to," Ecks whispered.

"My instincts told me otherwise."

"Where's Kuryakin?" Wye asked.

"Dead."

"What a pity. And here I thought I was going to get a little payback for him stabbing me that one time," Ecks said, clicking his tongue.

"Shame it was a wasted effort since you're still alive."

"But you won't be Solo, now come along with us real nice like."

"So I see you didn't kill the guards like you said you would."

"Well, about that; we've been tossing around the idea about changing sides."

"Here it comes," Napoleon thought. "It was as he'd suspected."

"We think we're going to give you back to her Majesty," Ecks said. "She knows you've gone missing. We'll be the heroes finding you, and stopping you from ruining her plans."

"Oh so want to be part of the inner circle huh," Solo retorted. It was about all about the lure of power. He was nothing but a pawn in their little game. Time was ticking away and he knew he had to make his move. It was now or never.

"And why not?" Wye asked." Maybe we're just a bit tired of just being paid lackeys. Don't you feel that way sometimes Mr. Solo?"

"You have a point there." Napoleon slipped off his THRUSH rifle still dangling on his shoulder by its strap and swung it like a baseball bat, slamming it into Eck's head and knocking him out.

In his follow through, Napoleon spun round hitting Wye in the stomach, making the man double over. He karate chopped him and he collapsed as well.

"Sorry boys." Solo took off at a dead run, heading for the exit to the courtyard, but when nearly reaching it Napoleon was suddenly driven forward in pain. He'd been struck in the back by a bullet.

Lady Olivia stood there with a rifle in her hands, flashing a feral smile.

Solo stumbled to the ground. His left arm lying in front of him, and his wristwatch right within his line of sight. Watching as the seconds ticked away; the bomb would be going off. It was the end for him as he knew the explosion would be massive.

Robbie Stewart sat rocking Kuryakin in his arms, holding him in an attempt to keep the man warm. It had finally started to snow.

The boy looked up and spotted a big Scottish wildcat moving toward him, presumably no, hopefully the one he'd fed earlier.

"Fàilte dhuibh," he greeted the animal in Scots Gaelic. "Do you remember me?"

The breed of animal, known to be fierce, approached the boy, purring as it head butted Robbie's leg, marking him with its scent no doubt.

"You accepted the hare from me, so might I ask a blessing of you?" The boy asked.

It purred even louder.

"T'is is nae for me. Please help ta heal this man if you can? He's in a bad way, and might die. Mr. Solo has nae returned and I fear he's failed at his task. Could you see ta possibly stopping that missile from launching and killing our Queen and the royal family in Sandringham? I know that's a lot ta ask for the price a wee hare, but it's real important."

The animal backed away and Robbie swore it bowed to him. Seconds later, despite it snowing, a heavy fog appeared on the loch and as it rolled in he swore he saw someone walking towards him along the shore.

As the figure drew closer, he could see it was a woman with long black hair that hung down below her knees. She seemed to be nearly naked, though her sparkling body was wrapped in seaweed? Loch Awe was a freshwater lake so where did that come from and the lady as well?. Just as suddenly, she was wearing a long hooded cape.

"Hello young Stewart," she spoke to him; her voice didn't sound quite human.

He was surprised she knew his name."Beg pardon Lady but you know me but I dinnae know you."

"I am of the loch, and am here to help yew as yew begged a blessing from our wild friend."

Robbie stuttered. "Are you a kelpie? He knew the mythical water horse could take human form as well as that of a horse. Legend warned never to ride the back of one, for once you got on, you could never get off and would be drowned in the water of the loch."

"Dinnae worry laddie, no harm will come to ye," she said."The beastie to whom ye were kind asked me to help yew. T'was for others yew asked help and not for yerself. For that I will do what I can do, but nae more."

The wildcat disappeared as the kelpie approached Robbie and kneeling next to him, she placed her glistening hand on Illya's head.

"He's suffered greatly," she whispered. "But all is not lost."

She began to sing in Gaelic and her voice sounded oddly as if it were one of many. Rob thought he heard music, perhaps it was the music of the sith...the faery folk?

]"Seinn an duan seo dhan Innis Àigh. An innish uaine as gile tràigh. Bidh sian air uairean a' bagairt cruaidh rish ach seo mo luaidh-s bhith ann a' tàmh…"

"Sing this song to the Happy Isle, the green isle of whitest sands, though storms at times threaten severely. Where do trees come into bloom sooner? Where does the thrush sing more sweetly on the tips of branches than in the Happy Isle. The most prized fish closest to the land, wishes to live about its shores…"

When the singing ended, Illya moaned and his eyes fluttered open.

"Who are you?" He struggled free of Robbie's grasp.

The boy was momentarily distracted as thee kelpie had disappeared, and the fog as well. Just gone, like that.

"Oh...my name is Rob and your friend Napoleon asked me ta watch over you whilst he went ta stop the missile from being launched."

Illya stood, feeling invigorated. His pain was completely gone, as apparently were all his wounds and bruises? He didn't stop to ask how.

Though he was shirtless, and without shoes, wearing only his black trousers, he knew he had to find his partner.

"Your friend told me if he didn't come back, ta leave you and head to Lord Bean's ta get help from your boss Mr. Waverly. He said my mother was going ta launch that missile soon and he was going ta stop it. He's been gone too long sir.

"Your mother?"

"Aye, I'm Robert...Rob Stewart, Lady Olivia's son and I'm dead set against what she's planning ta do. My mother is out of her mind and is completely mad."

Illya cocked his head at that bit of news…no argument there.

"Rob, you do as Mr. Solo told you to do. I need to head back to the castle to find and help him if I can."

"Yes sir," Robbie took off. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, in complete amazement of what had happened. Not only were the legends about the Scottish tiger true, but the kelpie as well.

The cold didn't seem to matter to the Russian as he ran towards Kilchurn, and as he peeked in through the entrance to the courtyard, he spotted Napoleon laying on the ground.

A half-dozen Thrushies were charging in his direction but dashed right past Solo as they headed out of the castle courtyard in what looked like sheer panic.

Illya grabbed Napoleon, and dragged him outside just as a huge explosion went off.

The concussion knocked the Russian to the ground, and once he regained his senses, he lifted Solo to his feet and moved him away to find cover.

Napoleon looked up in complete surprise. "Illya? You're okay?"

"Yes, but I do know know how," Kuryakin actually smiled.

"The bomb, did it detonate? Solo whispered.

"It did indeed. The missile is destroyed along with anyone left inside the castle."

Thinking of Lady Olivia, Ecks and Wye, Napoleon whispered only one word.

"Good."

He then passed out.

.

.

Translations:

Numpty: is a stupid or ineffectual person.

Nae: no

Dinnae: do not

Caber: a roughly trimmed tree trunk used in the Scottish Highland sport of _tossing the caber_. It involves holding the caber upright and running forward to toss it so that it lands on the opposite end.

Sith: pronounced 'shee' the name for the faeries in Scotland. In ireland they're 'Sidhe."


	12. girl in the glen

After the fireworks and smoke, nothing was left for the UNCLE agents but to call in on their newly retrieved communicators and then wait. Rob did make his way back to Sir Thomas Beane's Estate, so the message was sent twice that reinforcements were needed. In spite of searching through the rubble, only a few survivors were found and, curiously, no sign of Her Ladyship nor the always slippery Ecks and Wye.

If they had escaped the explosion then it would be up to Interpol or MI5 to track them down. For now, UNCLE's job was finished here.

The London office was quick to respond, and to the amazement of both Solo and Kuryakin, among those whose arrival they welcomed was the Old Man himself, in full tweed.

Napoleon's wound was not as serious as he had first imagined. As it happened the bullet hit leather first, thanks to his shoulder holster not having been removed. The impact was remarkably like that of wearing a protective vest, eliciting thanksgiving for favors small and large.

Illya was, to Napoleon's amazement, completely intact. His naked torso did not reveal the previous wounds he had witnessed, and the energy with which his Russian partner had worked while extricating them both from within the courtyard defied the nearly dead man he had left in the care of Rob Stewart.

Whether it was the magic of Christmas or the mystery of Scotland, he knew not. But once again Napoleon Solo marveled at how well they had made out on something that previously was viewed as nothing short of a tragic ending.

Alexander Waverly was in London awaiting the results of this affair, having flown in with his wife and children for what he called a serendipitous journey back to England, for the purpose of enjoying Christmas as a true English family should. Of course, Constance Waverly knew it was subterfuge, but went along willingly for the sake of the eventual good times they would have in her former homeland. The allure of an English Christmas did much to soften her attitude towards UNCLE business in the middle of her favorite for the Waverly clan, this mission was concluded before the Great Day.

By the time the site was examined and all participants, those that survived, were rounded up for a later date with interrogations, the bells of London churches were ringing in the faithful for Midnight services.

Illya and Napoleon had rooms at the Savoy, an unprecedented expression of largesse from Waverly. He summoned all of his kind regard for the two men he routinely sent into the worst possible situations, although his wife Constance did have some say in it; a detail of which the two recipients of the luxurious suite were aware.

Napoleon did make mention to Mr. Waverly concerning Rob Stewart, without whose help the victory would never have happened. Since the young man was left with no relations after the possible of death of his mother (something he bore with unusual grace and no ill will towards those whose actions had most certainly caused it); he was invited to join the growing group of guests who would dine with the Waverlys on Christmas Day. Rob was only too happy to accept the invitation, his fascination with the two men he had met during this most unusual escapade (not to mention the extraordinary visitations of the Scottish Wildcat and the Kelpie), made him wonder if he too might work for the U.N.C.L.E. someday.

Illya Kuryakin was Russian, and therefore not unfamiliar with tales of mysterious creatures and magical transformations. He had certainly heard of Kelpies, and the tales surrounding the Scottish Wildcats. He had no other explanation for how his body had been saved from the tortured, bleeding mass of flesh he had been before the encounter with Rob. He wouldn't question any of it, for to do so was to discredit the healing, and the culture of Scotland. He wasn't always a man of faith, but wisdom dictated that he not scoff at it either.

As for Napoleon, his heart was happy, which is to say that his optimism was intact and the Spirit of Christmas within him was shining bright as the lights on the Waverly's Christmas tree.

The meal was delicious, a traditional British feast of Beef Roast and Yorkshire Pudding, roasted parsnips and potatoes, and for dessert a beautiful array of sweets.

Illya was as close to heaven as could be with the elaborate spread, while Napoleon basked in the warmth of the day. Adding to his pleasure was the unexpected arrival of his Aunt Amy, whose Christmas plans often revolved around her favorite nephew and his handsome friend.

She had decided to fly to London as soon as Constance Waverly informed her of the situation and probable Christmas Day events. Both women set their hearts and hopes on a good outcome, and were richly rewarded as they sat at table among their favorite men.

Alexander Waverly looked around the great table, not unlike the one in his office. The large dining room in his London Home afforded room for this one, which seated twelve people. _His people._

Constance was there as were their two grown children and families. That made seven. Completing the assembly were Amy Trudeau, Napoleon, Illya, Rob Stewart and of course Alexander.

Twelve. Like the Twelve Days of Christmas, the twelves months of the year, twelve hours of day and twelve hours of night. This was a complete circle, and one for which every soul was grateful. In spite of tragedy or loss, the spirit of the day remained joyful and full of gratitude for just being together on Christmas.

And so it was, at the end of the evening as each one left for various destinations…

.

 **They each sauntered down to a warm, spritely cabbie.**

 **And away they all drove past the famous old Abbey**

 **But each of them hailed as their cars pulled from sight,**

 **HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!**


End file.
